The Bookseller.com

3rd December 2008

Daisy Frost is an agent at the Edward Cecil Literary Agency. She blogs at missdaisyfrost.com.

Lazarus opens his Blue Door

15.04.08

The LBF is a bit like bumping into a teenage boyfriend. That initial surge of nostalgic affection and familiarity—and then he opens his mouth and you are reminded how stupid he is, and that you resent him, and actually you always did, now you come to think of it.

Welcome to the book fair.

But let’s backtrack a moment. I was just arriving at the Nibbies last week on the arm of "Bad David" (Godwin) when my mobile rang—it was "Good David" (North) fresh from his career-malfunction at Macmillan and I had to cancel everything and take him out for sushi to attack his problems over a bottle or three of sake.

He seemed very low and didn’t even snap his chopsticks apart, let alone touch his brown rice maki rolls, that’s how desperate it was. I told him to keep his chin up and jolly well ring Charkin as there are apparently loads of empty desks at Bloomsbury.

When I finally made it back to the Nibbies, Christopher Little was running round looking for a safety pin and gaffer tape for J K Rowling-in-it, and Bad David was tucked away with Geri Halliwell discussing the physics of what happens when you are “left alone in a room with just your thoughts”, as she recently discussed in an interview. The answer being: “You lose your mind and think you can write children’s fiction.” Or become an agent.

After the Nibbies and the humiliation of being beaten to the final of Agent Idol by the likes of David “Windy” Miller and Luigi Love Muffin—not to mention Sheila “When I Was a Sales Director” Crowley and Kirby United, I still managed to get my traditional fix of Sunday afternoon’s soap opera entertainment—the weird accents, the treachery, the ruthless gossip. . .  I’m only glad I didn’t shout ‘You ain’t my muvva!’ at Carole Blake before I remembered I wasn’t watching the EastEnders omnibus after all . . . but at the gorgeous Earls Court 2 instead attending a three-hour seminar on “An Introduction to Selling”. I must have done something very bad in a former life to deserve that.

On then to Vicky and Jane’s lavish “Coming Out Ball” for Lazarus Janson-Smith at Home House. All the usual suspects were there—even the Jackal (who looks so demonic up close) and everyone was in their Sunday best—even Nicholas Pearson who looked as if he might have  brushed his hair for a change—but then again it might have been a trick of the light.

All talk though was not, as I had hoped, of my imminent auction of Max Mosley’s memoir Pole Position, but of Lazarus and why his new imprint was called Blue Door—Peter Straus thought it might have a jazz reference, Richard Johnson was sure it was Shakespearian but even Richard “Biteback” Brooks didn’t know for sure. I gave up guessing and went to Stringfellows with Sonny and Gail.

P.S. But hang on a sec . . . is it just a coincidence that “door” rhymes with “whore”? Maybe Lazarus has more of a sense of humour than we thought and, come to think of it he might be a perfect publisher for Max Mosley . . .

P.P.S. Do email me your fair gossip to missdaisyfrost@gmail.com. I promise to reply and the best answer to the Blue Door mystery wins a Miss Daisy Frost pencil.

Comments on this article